


Winter

by On_Every_Spectrum



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: As In Literally Just Holding Hands, Childhood, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Friendship, Growing Up, Growing Up Together, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, The Steve/Bucky Is Super Minimal, This Is Mostly Just Bucky Remembering Their Childhoods, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-09 18:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18922336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/On_Every_Spectrum/pseuds/On_Every_Spectrum
Summary: "Winter morning after winter morning the two boys sat in companionable silence. In the afternoons Bucky would tell Steve about his books and Steve would tell about the stories in his drawings in return. In the evenings Bucky would go home to a loud crowded home and Steve would pass along what Bucky had told him about the books over dinner so his mother thought he liked them."





	Winter

On cold winter mornings Bucky's mom pushed him out the door. His younger siblings were sent out after him, only his teenaged sister and the babies staying behind. His mom didn't do it to be cruel. She had withstood the frigidness of Polish Decembers; she trusted her kids to do the same. So they did.

And they were all ruddy hot-blooded children. They all held up to the cold just as well as their parents had before them. But, Bucky was still pleased and grateful to have a warm home to hole up in instead.

Every morning he left his younger brothers already lobbing snow balls at one another and started to trudge through the heavy snow or slide across the slippery ice down several blocks.

Steve's mother always hurried out just about when he arrived. More often than not he would reach the hall outside their apartment just as she was opening the door. She would ruffle his hair, tell him to help himself to some coffee and leave the door swinging open for him.

When he came in he would take a moment to evaluate how Steve was feeling. If he sat at the table doodling it was a good day. If he was still lying on his bed in the corner, not so much. The closer his bed had been pulled to the wood burning stove the worse it was.

Bucky would come in, shed his sodden woolen jacket and scarf. The heavy garments were hung across the stove under which they would create a small puddle of water until they were dry and toasty warm for his walk back home. At his house there wasn't enough space to hang every child's clothes across the hot stove, so his jacket was already chilled from the previous night when he donned it each morning.

He poured a cup of coffee with lots of cream for himself and checked to make sure that Steve had enough left in his cup, before picking up the paper and heading to sit next to his friend. He knew that Steve would have already read the funnies, the only section he cared about, so he kept the whole paper for himself. Reading the occasional amusing or interesting headline out loud.

Steve was never a morning person, and certainly not after coughing and cold and a plugged nose had kept him up half the night until his body forced him to sleep. So, they sat quietly until Bucky had finished the paper and Steve had drunk at least two cups of bitter black coffee. On bad days, Bucky made a point of refilling Steve's cup before he could even try to himself. Drinking more coffee than he otherwise liked, so as not to hurt Steve's pride and make him feel that Bucky was getting up just for him. Even if they both knew the truth.

After the newspaper, there were books. Steve's mom worked next to a library, and every evening she would bring home another book or two for the boys to read. Steve hated reading, though he would never tell his mother that, so Bucky read them all.

He delighted in the stories. He liked the magical ones best, exciting tales like Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland. But, he read the adventure stories too, made friends with the Swiss Family Robinson and other rugged characters. He enjoyed reading Mark Twain's books about enterprising young men who sought out excitement in life. Though, he never wanted that kind of excitement himself. He'd rather a quiet life.

While he read, Steve drew. And, unlike Bucky's books, Steve's drawings represented everything he wanted to be. Steve had never wanted a quiet and calm. He would love to be able to seek out adventure. He drew old fashioned military planes like his father flew in WWI and tall cowboys on trusty horses like the stars of Bucky's least favorite library books; the ones that he sometimes convinced Steve to let him read to him when he was shivering too much to hold his pencil properly.

Steve did not like books. He found them hard to follow. Words on a page were no way to tell a story in his opinion. He liked radio shows better, with different voices for each characters and sound effects. And he liked movies best of all. He saved his ten cent allowance every week for him and Bucky to be able to buy tickets to each new movie to come out. In movies, a story simply came to life.

So, winter morning after winter morning the two boys sat in companionable silence. In the afternoons Bucky would tell Steve about his books and Steve would tell about the stories in his drawings in return. In the evenings Bucky would go home to a loud crowded home and Steve would pass along what Bucky had told him about the books over dinner so his mother thought he liked them.

All winter break their routine only altered at the end of each week. On the weekends, they did not see one another. Steve and his mother went to church Sunday morning. Bucky did not know what they did after that, only that it was their time for just the two of them.

On Saturdays Bucky's whole family trekked to synagogue and he was tasked with keeping his three little brothers silent while his sister and mom rocked the two littlest ones. His father always sat silently and didn't seem to even notice what was happening around him. Sometimes Bucky wondered why he bothered to come.

During the school year, they attended different schools. And, there was rarely time after school let out to visit for long. In summer, Bucky was expected to help his father at the garage. But, winter break was theirs. Just him and Steve. In their own little world.

Bucky tried to remember that now. To remember that once he loved winter. He had waited eagerly for the season's first snowfall. Ran outside to check the weather every hour whenever a storm seemed likely. He had hoped for snow days. Winter was always his favorite season growing up.

He tried to remember that. And, not how cold it was in France. Freezing in the trenches. Feeling that you'd never be warm again. Or the winds in the Soviet Union. Brisk cold that chilled you to your bones.

Tried not to think about everytime Hydra put him on ice. They never did him the mercy of knocking him out first. Just forced him to climb into the chamber and closed it on him. Left him to wait until he actually froze.

He doesn't know how to feel about winter now. Living in New York with Steve. He wants to treasure it the way he once had. To feel that old excitement again. But, there are traumas that are hard to forget.

Still, as Steve takes his hand. His body heat managing to pass through the layers of both their gloves, Steve runs so hot now. Bucky remembers when they were young. Remembers how that felt. And, it's enough. They step out into the cold together.


End file.
